Why Snakes Shouldn't Play With Lionesses
by precocious lust
Summary: Hermione had never been one for Divination, but not even Trelawny could've predicted this. Well no one had expected sixth year to be easy...
1. Chapter One

Chapter 1

 _H:_

It had all kicked off in Potions. I will forgive you if you're not surprised at the location, as let's be honest, when does it ever not? Sure there was always multiple idiotic, nose-picking, but mostly horny nethanderthals (i.e. teenagers) all in close contact with volatile potion ingredients (case and point: Ron's mini explosion, as he diced instead of sliced his Erumpent Horn at the sight of Lavender's fat arse bending down to get something she'd 'accidentally' dropped), which made it likely for there to be some…accidents. However I wasn't convinced that this allowed for disasters every single bloody time I set foot in the dungeons. It just wasn't a coincidence anymore!

It looked innocent enough to the uneducated eye, but then again most things did in the Wizarding World– right before they singed your eyebrows off. This was much deadlier than the lack of sweat-collectors on your face. There were three cauldrons in front, but I could only focus on one. Its opulent sheen reminded me of a storybook I had had when I was younger, one that I had pored over for hours on end, listlessly gazing at the caricatures of fairies nestled in amongst the rose-tinged cream glitter. The memory was bittersweet against the callous reality of the menace in front of me, bubbling away merrily, as if it was smug at the thought of my serious consideration to drop Potions. The notion was becoming more attractive by each minute squeezing its way out of the hourglass.

'Now, as I was saying, I've prepared a few concoctions this morning. Any ideas what these might be? Yes, Miss...?' Slughorn nodded at me.

'Granger, sir. That one there is Veritaserum. And that would be Polyjuice Potion. And that... is Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world,' I gulped, praising my efforts to keep my hands from shaking. 'It's rumoured to smell differently to each person, according to what attracts them. For example, I smell freshly mown grass, new parchment, spearmint toothpaste and...'

Slughorn graciously ignored my blush and the sinking of my lips into a frown at the signals coming from my nose. 'Now Amortentia doesn't create actual love, of course. That's impossible. But it does cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. For that reason, it is probably the most dangerous potion in this room.'

I couldn't agree more. If I knew anything at all–trust me you can't read as much as I do without getting to know a bit– I had just confirmed something that I had been trying to suppress for a long time: I was in love with the most emotionally immature boy known to mankind. That wasn't his official title, but that was all that was going through my head, as I stared horrified at one Ronald Weasely. Oh fuck.

However I was nothing if not thorough, so after a tortuous night of being anything but asleep, I got up early on the Saturday morning to collect more evidence. This involved me dashing back to the Dungeons. Willingly. If I hadn't been such a tangle of intense panic and emotions, I may have–with the help of logic– realised that returning to the place of all my (petty) woe was a bad idea.

I was stirring my cauldron, disgruntled to find that uselessly moving the potion round and round didn't make it the colour it was supposed to be, when there was a soft hiss of footsteps. I looked up to see the extraordinarily-repellent Draco Malfoy. Cool grey eyes appraised my cocoa-coloured (a cruel trick of nature was my colour scheme) irises. He look haggard; he was so gaunt that his skin now seemed to be in some parts slowly draining off the omnipresent points and peaks, while in other places it was stretched tight over them. Much to my chagrin however, his attractiveness hadn't been completely derailed by this change. There was something missing though.

The tousled hair and the languid posture of a cocksure twat made it easy to establish why his title was the 'Slytherin Sex God' was well-founded. I had always found that if he'd been a bit stockier, then I could imagine the ebbing smoke of a cigar curling around his blond locks in a dusky halo. His fingers would be forever melded with the indent of a fat roll of tobacco. The image was pristine in my head, as he paused appearing to be looking for someone, before referring his complete attention onto me.

'This is an all-new low Granger. Lust potion really?' he drawled, thus delivering to me two clashing epiphanies express-delivery. I couldn't say I was grateful. 'Going to slip some into the Weasel's dinner? Desperate but as much as I expected. Please tell me the time and place, so I can guarantee myself a front seat row for your humiliation.'

Epiphany number one: so that's what I had made. I would've been able to identify it normally, but that's emotions for you. Epiphany number two: that's what was missing. His smirk. I'd never thought I'd see the beautiful day. Mind you he didn't have a lot to smirk about– his father's departure to Azkaban must have put a real dampener on Voldermort's 'Welcome Back!' party. If Lucieus hadn't been one of the group of deatheaters trying to murder me and his son didn't resemble a splodge of pus that I failed to scrape off my shoe, then I might have felt sorry for him.

'It's on the syllabus. I was–' I lied, as he strutted over to me. I noticed a suspicious clunk that sounded like liquid sloshing around in a bottle. I wouldn't put it past him to be drinking in school. No doubt he'd been having shots of grey goose since potty training.

'And you were being a know-it-all bitch as usual.'

'Glad to see you have such a flattering hypothesis on the essence of my character. I have a few choice words about yours too. Namely why do you feel the need to drown yourself in cologne? Is that rumour about you having a second layer of slime making the rounds again?' I smiled sweetly.

He mimicked the look sardonically, leaning down to place his knuckles on the desk. Any minute now he was going to rip off his shirt and beat his chest in imitation of a male grey back gorilla. Males and their delusions of grandeur down under.

I was right about the smell though. It was a moving fog of hands and feet shoving the scent in my face, until it burnt the back of my throat and water welled in my eyes. If it hadn't been so strong, then it would've been, well, hot. I resisted the urge to close my eyes and picture a Calvin Klein model hovering above me. No such luck however, as Malfoy quirked an eyebrow.

His whole manner today was off. The hostility remained and this was his attempt to conceal the sombre flit of his eyes, yet it was like there were two immiscible fluids lurching around in his brain. I detected playfulness. I couldn't be too sure on my interpretation, as any minute now he would be calling me a 'mudblood'. That wasn't playful at all. I mean the charming phrase could lead to potentially his murder and my imprisonment, which I found didn't correlate to the mood associated with puppies.

'I would be careful if I was you Granger,' he growled huskily.

I raised an eyebrow, ignoring the cool trickle of fear posing as cyanide entering my coiled toes. Unlike Harry and Ron, I had never underestimated Malfoy's potential threat. He was an impressive wizard and the knowledge of my less than satisfactory result in DADA was not only a sore spot, but a weakness. One he could– and would with pleasure– undoubtedly exploit.

'What? Is this slime layer contagious?'

He bent down even closer, until I could for the first time appreciate the hues of the thunderstorm warring in his eyes. Uncomfortable wasn't a strong enough adjective for what I was feeling.

'I don't make warnings often mud–'His speech paused, as he licked his lips to deliberate over his words. 'I don't make them often, but I'm perfectly serious when I do.'

I knew my eyes were wide in terror and I hated it, but I couldn't tear them off of his, as I recalled the Quidditch World Cup. For a Slytherin, he had the odd moments of candour.

'Noted,' I croaked, as his thinned mouth waned completely and he jerked back out of the room in a movement atypical of his usual fluid motion.

I blinked. And then decided I needed food and fast. And also in vast quantities.

 _D:_

It was a cruel twist of fate, I reasoned with myself, nothing you wouldn't subject someone else too if you ever were given the chance. Sometimes I felt I would a brilliant shoe-in for fate and what with my life going so sublimely abysmal, I had years of in-depth first-hand experience that I could readily apply to the job. It was a pity that this latest trick was so spot-on with its timing. Well it was a pity for the House Elves, who had to now clear up the scab-saffron mixture of bile and vomit I had emptied onto the floor. That's if they didn't enjoy cleaning as much as I enjoyed taking the last remaining piss from Granger, although in light of recent events it'd seemed I took more pleasure from terrifying her now. The little quake of her skinny frame and the wideness of her eyes were a sight I would hold forever. Maybe not forever, maybe just until the day the Dark Lord whimsically decided to murder me– if I didn't fuck up first and the whole process was sped up as a result.

 _It'd been her eyes that been my undoing._ I was glad that I had nothing left in my stomach, as that poetical drivel nearly made me retch. Again. However I wouldn't bother causing myself that sting admitting something that wasn't true. They were an exact replica and one that came without the 'MADE IN CHINA' label: shape, hue, size, colour, shine, dimensions, shade, expression, movement and emotion. They and they alone, had been what had sent the acidic burn racing up my throat, so my food could be reacquainted with myself and my surroundings.

If I hadn't leant down in my school-boy intimidation technique, then I may have left unscathed– even managed to achieve some satisfaction by tormenting Granger some more. Instead there was clarity in the image of her confusion, bordering on concern, at my sudden departure. I might've slammed my fist into the wall, if a similar but starkly different image hadn't overwhelmed my mental barriers. Lucky for me wasn't it that I could stop the Dark Lord from glimpsing my inner thoughts, yet I couldn't stop the very same ones from besieging– marauding around freely–my brain. However I should have expected as much, as a key part of my upbringing and later my own practises, was that fear was a brilliant motivator.

 _Blood, sweet and rich, cascaded out of cuts and over bones and bruises alike. I had always been allowed to slither away to stare uselessly at the library bookshelves, flinching at the syncopated screams, but today had been an awful, unwelcomed exception. Now I was here, I found my eyes were jammed, simply relaying the gory images through loose connections to my brain._

 _She was young and had previously been beautiful. For once her picture-postcard looks and shamelessly divine curves had been what had truly doomed her. Auntie Bella hated beauty. But then again Auntie Bella hated everything and she would've been tortured anyway because of her heritage. Or lack of._

 _A short time ago I wouldn't have had to focus on maintaining short, shallow breaths and in all probability, just averted my eyes for the really tasteless parts of the exercise. However I found this couldn't be achieved today, as I was having difficulty trying to decipher which parts were less tasteful than the others. They all resulted in the same high-pitched shrieks and begging that I could only liken to gamma rays in their intensity, nature and impact. I was also having trouble with interpreting why today was different. The leading view was that I had never witnessed the blood– the singular fixation that had my eyes caught in the nettle bush, which until this moment, I had never noticed that it had lies embroiled in it._

 _Crimson. Scarlet. Ruby. Claret. Garnet. Cherry. Red. It was all of these at once, yet there was a point of homeostasis; it wasn't brown. There was no mud, either in the form of glistening, moist soil on a rainy day, or in the dry splatters on wellingtons that resulted because of a walk on a rainy day. It was astoundingly, indoctrination-shatteringly, red. Very red if the vast quantities that were collapsing, thoroughly expelled, in coughs and spasms out of the body, were anything to go by._

 _Of course I had never truly believed that it would be a mundane brown. No one had clarified this, but I had always just accepted that there would a slight tinge to it. And then when I was older, I had dusted this superstition out of my head like it was a bit of stray grime. But that's the thing about superstition: it never goes away, unless tackled. It can't be misplaced, put down and never retrieved, it's a characteristic– a third hand– that remains with you for life. I wondered briefly whether I would feel pain seeing that it had been amputated– nothing to replace it with, leaving a gaping hole that I dared to tread near and peer through to the truth._

 _The truth. Ha. We had never been introduced._


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

 _H:_

A wisp of a snarl disrupted my happy inner burble that accompanied me whenever I was presented with some Arthimancy problems. Although the answers to these did elude me, my brain was more enticed by the mystery of where the source of the noise was located. It was a silly game, yet short and sweet enough for me to partake in it.

My gaze lifted from the paper to the person working next to me. Well, it hadn't been Ernie Macmillan– I would've sooner expected a whimper. We were good friends– something most thought to be incapable, since me socialising outside of Harry, Ron and Madam Pince was preposterous– but this friendship had done nothing to alter my mind's attitude on the topic of my faint prejudice towards Hufflepuffs. I knew it was an idiotic reflection, but I had accepted that it was a better fault than, for example, being a baby deatheater or wearing crocs. The latter had been more responsible for me losing my faith in humanity than what preceded it.

My hunt lead my gaze adrift to dart over several Ravenclaws, whose noses scrapped their parchment, as their quills wobbled frantically in their haste. A low growl, which would've gone unnoticed in any other classroom, solved the conundrum for me instantly. It was a shame, I mused, for him that Arithmancy was so silent; does a lesson at Hogwarts really happen if there's no mania and noise for anyone to hear? Well for Malfoy the lesson was simply a formality– he was there in nothing more than body– as he eyed the test Professor Vector had just dumped on his desk.

It was obvious really, as out of a class of socially-inept, introverted nerds, the boy who'd broken Harry's nose was the most likely to release noises of rage. However I often forgot he took Arithmancy, as in all other lessons his very presence demanded attention– mostly females' or Harry's. Regardless of this behaviour in Arithmancy he was changed character–barely even grunting for his name in the register. My forgetfulness may prove to be no bad thing, as from the look of his deep, unwavering scowl at his result, it could've been suggested that he wouldn't be taking Arithmancy for much longer.

He seemed to acknowledge this sudden slide of the slippery slip, as his eyes bulged furiously, peering out their sunken sockets. I whipped my head around rapidly to avoid looking creepy– Harry had the auspicious position of his stalker and I didn't want to intrude on that accomplishment. Anyway I could practically hear the spiteful, blush-inducing bite of 'do want a pair of Ominoculars to stare at me better with?'. Unfortunately this flurried motion disturbed my resting hair from its nest and I choked half to death on it, knocking all my books off the desk in order to postpone my demise. Most of the class shot upright in their chairs at the clatter, resulting in half a dozen dirty looks in my direction. Well, I had never promised to have bodily coordination or spatial awareness. More worryingly, as I dropped to the floor to clear up the mess, Malfoy stared me down for a couple of moments, before kicking one of my textbooks back to me. If I hadn't known any better, I would've assumed it was an act of peace, devoid of all malicious intent.

This abrupt end of my game dropped me straight back into my thoughts, particularly the ones that concerned Ginny. We got on well and she was easily the closest of my female friends, but it would've taken someone both blind and deaf to not realise that Ginny was fiery. It was cliché with her being ginger and all, but I admired her for it. Unlike my bookish, rule-regulated self, she was rogue with her feelings, opinions and actions. She had boys lusting after her, drooling at merely a flick of her hair and her flowery scent. This fieriness bled into all parts of her life, even her secrets. She kept them with a passion, yet this meant she sometimes shot herself in foot. I was observant and from what she had confided, I knew she had a dilemma. One that was dark-skinned, very attractive and possessed a ruthless, if not completely heartless, mother.

Blaise Zabini was Dean's opposite in every way. Sneering to Dean's nice. Cold to Dean's warmth. Underhand to Dean's open honesty. Nevertheless even I, the Gryffindor prude, could see the appeal of Zabini. It was a disclosed _fact_ that the sex would be divine– you only had to look at him to know that! Previously she had furiously described to me his actions at Slughorn's cosy lunch on the train; however she had failed to conceal her utter, misplaced attraction to the snake. This had motivated me to also observe Zabini at dinner and, let's just say, disaster was looming. Imminently. My hobby of reading wasn't just confided to books, so my conclusion could be counted on to be a fairly solid one.

Yet even these thoughts of Ginny were a distraction from the sole focus of my brain: Ronald Weasely. Oh God. Since admitting to myself that I was desperately, hopelessly, in love with the bastard, circumstances had taken a turn for the worst. While I was endeavouring (struggling) to act 'causal', Ron had found himself the focal point of someone else's attention. If I wasn't resolutely polite, then Lavender Brown may have wound up on my hit list. An imaginary one of course. If I was Ginny, a Bat-Bogey Hex may have been pointed in the direction of Lavender's stupid, giggly head.

'Miss Granger? Miss Granger?' Professor Vector beamed down at me, as I shook myself from my ginger-infested thoughts. 'I was wondering if you could stay for a couple of minutes after this lesson. I have a request to bequeath you.'

I attempted to smile back, but only managed a strained grimace. Normally I would be smug about being singled out by a teacher so readily, yet today the sinking feeling in my stomach would not be ignored.

'And you too, Mr. Malfoy.' Professor Vector snapped grimly in the blond's direction. He blinked at her, scowling at her interruption to his pity party.

I had brief but terrifying images of what was to come. I may have dropped Divination, but I didn't need a crystal ball or tea leaves to work out what Professor Vector's request might be.

 _D:_

'I'm sorry Professor, but there must be someone else! I have a lot to do and–'

'Miss Granger I feel that yours is a talent to share! And surely you realise that it would make your wish to be Head Girl more likely to be a reality, if you aid Mr. Malfoy in his studies!' Vector rambled through Granger's protestations.

Granger's mouth shut with a smack. I sighed at the amateur bribery Vector was having a stab at it. Didn't Granger know that she was Head Girl already? Save personally murdering several members of staff, nothing she could possibly do would jeopardise her position for the coming year. She was denser than I had assumed, if she couldn't use her status to get out of arduous tasks, for example, tutoring me in Arithmancy.

I reminded stoic in the debate raging between the two hags.

Despite my poster boy status and the previously-welcomed yet wrong suggestions that I was the heir of Slytherin in second year, I wasn't a true Slytherin. Oh sure I had poise, status and the ability to look shifty from up to a mile away, but I lacked certain characteristics. Take today for example, I had through my own lack of control shown my increasing ineptitude at Arithmancy. Certainly it had been amusing to observe Granger trying to conceal her curiosity and the resulting mishaps had almost made me smirk, yet it had perfectly displayed why I could never be counted on in my ability as a snake.

Where some people had streaks of whimsicalness a mile wide, I had a narrow vein straight through my heart. I used to put it down to immaturity and age, but I now recognised it to be an incurable trait. In spite of various glaringly obvious reasons why I should detest my own impulsiveness (it being an attribute associated with Gryffindor for one), I found I was more than willing to allow it to reside in the cavity in my chest surrounded by all my other doubtful qualities.

In my mind– right at the back for safekeeping– I realised it was the main thing that separated me from Voldermort. And my father for that matter. They both 'controlled' their emotions so well that I had formulated over the years that they didn't have any to start with– excluding impatience and anger. However I had been born with some inkling of sentiment (the warm, squishy type that I didn't enjoy being prodded), so I had always had to work harder to live up to the expectation that I too would be heartless. My mother, however dear she was to me, unquestionably hadn't helped.

Yet I wasn't a Hufflepuff in a snake's skin by any stretch of imagination; I had intuitive cunning and this cunning told me someone as naïve and trusting as Granger could be won over by charm and by the façade of repentance. If won over, she could use her considerable talent to fix a vanishing cabinet. I knew the level of difficulty and manipulation it would take to convince her to relinquish any useful information, but she was a catalyst worth tolling for, given that I also knew the level of difficulty it took to fix the fucking thing.

That's why I remained stoic: I already knew the outcome. I knew even before she huffed in defeat, fixed me with a worried stare, and crumbled to Professor Vector's demand. My face might have been expressing my deep, unwavering aversion for her, but inwardly I was content with the conclusion.

'Malfoy? What days are you free then?' She bit her lip, as Vector marched briskly from the room. I recalled our last encounter when she had been alone with me. The silence stretched on as I merely raised an eyebrow– I had to at least give the impression that I was as against the whole idea as she was. She ignored my look and jabbered on about her extra-curricular activites that I really didn't give two shits about.

I avoided her eye, instead focusing my sight on a spot just above her tangled mane. Although my mind was having some success today in regards to repressing the worst of the brutal images associated with her lookalike, it was affecting my performance and acid reflux. As a result, my manner was deflated and weak-willed, as my concentration on the present faltered. I couldn't succumb, I couldn't revisit the memory. My filed nails may have not been Sword of Gryffindor sharp, but once applied to the distinctly sore Dark Mark, they drew enough blood for me to solidify my position in the present. Her words snatched at my ears once again.

'Have all your brain cells died at once or something?' she asked, looking more flustered with every second passing by. I could see she was mentally going through her to-do list for the lunch hour we'd just entered. Undoubtedly she had a couple hundred books lined up to begin reading.

'No can't say they have, but I must admit I rather wish yours would,' I smirked sardonically at her. 'Thursday at eight. Library.'

With that command issued, I swiftly moved off into the corridor. I could practically imagine her seething, as she for once hadn't been allowed the last word.

'I can't do that day!' I heard her wail from behind, followed by the sound of her dropping her books again and swearing profusely as she stubbed her toe. A second bang, sounding awfully like she had just headbutted something in her haste to exit the classroom in order to harass me, rang out.

'Shame,' I muttered, revelling in the happy thought of her having to rearrange her schedule for me.

Now all I had to do now was come up with a plan to charm her so subtly that she didn't even realise, as well as being able to stomach her presence to carry out the charming. Easy enough, apart from the fact she wasn't as mentally deficient as anyone else I had manipulated before–Pansy or Blaise being the highest intelligence I had ever worked with. I entertained the thought of writing to my father for advice, before I remembered his extended visit to Azkaban. For the nausea that trailed me, becoming particularly vindictive at the sight of her, it appeared I might have to drug myself into a stupor for every meeting. Not very professional, but a last resort option at the very least.


	3. Chapter Three

_A/N: Thanks guys for all the favourites and follows! This is my first attempt at fanfic, but I hope you like it. Reviews would be gratefully accepted._

Chapter Three

 _D:_

'You came?' she stuttered. 'I mean, you came.'

Shitty Weasel and his shitty timing. Now I my already thin balance beam had become the width of a pencil.

'Evidently,' I raised my eyebrows, placing my books on the table with a solid thunk. My voice was even, not awash with my usual derision, as I knew I had to be covertly charming. 'Don't sound too overjoyed.'

'Sorry I just–never mind. Well we should get started.' If I hadn't already known, then from her indecisive twitter, I would have still been able to ascertain that she was suppressing some inner turmoil quite easily. 'Right then. Um. I'm not very good at the teaching side of tutoring like structure and stuff. I haven't really had the opportunity–'

'No it's easier to let the dim-witted duo copy, isn't it?' She would be suspicious if I didn't insult the twats she insisted in being manipulated and used by.

'And what exactly do you do with Crabbe and Goyle?'

'Failing is the only thing they're good at apart from eating.' _Oh and masquerading as small girls to alert me to risk of being caught_ , a snarky voice pointed out from within my head. 'Why should I spoil it for them? Ignorance is bliss after all.'

'Endearing,' Granger bit out, referring her eyes back to the open book in front of her. As if that would stop me from noticing her slight smirk. 'Now that leads me onto another point. I would like to keep these meetings civil.'

'Fine, but don't expect anything for Christmas.' her eyes bugged wonderfully at the statement and I knew I had set a wobbling toe out of the thin, crumbling plank I was standing on. Time to be distant and cool again.

She chose to ignore me. Thank God. 'So I know you're more than capable of getting good results and completing the tasks, but you're too…busy,' her eyes flashed at mine, telling me she I was 'up to no good', but lacked evidence. Otherwise I could expect far worse than a punch in the face. I tried not to focus on this, rather than register the pride I felt at her indirectly calling me clever. 'To actually revise or do the homework. This means in these sessions you can just catch up on work and ask any questions, if there are any problems. Alright?'

'Granger copping out? There must be something serious to have you neglecting your duties.' I felt my wrist twist the knife further into her heart. Her lips became a beautiful 'o'. I dragged my eyes brazenly down her face to appraise them. Lust always leant itself to charm. Better to have them imagining your hands on their body than to have them realise you are actually reaching into their pocket. Plus if I could get Granger feeling hormones for the first time in her life, then the absence of reason and this breach in her otherwise infinite knowledge, would make the manipulation easier. Take Potter and Weasel for an example. Add in warm, sticky emotions and you could have Granger doing your coursework for the rest of the year.

'Glad to see the civility lasted all of ten seconds.'

She appeared to be bracing herself behind the desk. No book was going to absorb the sting of my words. Not a chance. I was a skilled rehetric in the field of 'pissing Hermione Mudblood Granger off'. 'Oh but there was, wasn't there? Someone brown-haired, extremely pisstaking and desensitised to her own high-pitched squeals–'

'Shut up Malfoy!'

'Kindly remind Weasel, on the behalf of the entire student population, that we all prefer it when he removes you knickers, instead of twisting them.'

'You make a nice ferret, do you recall?' she threatened. Feeble really. Bellatrix could have a grown man weep for his mother with just her threats, though I suppose in her unique (insane) case, it did help that it was common knowledge that she took intense pleasure from carrying them out. I would know all too well. And, of course, unlike Granger, she could at least make eye contact and not burrow into a book red-faced afterwards.

I merely smirked at her response. The next hour and a half passed in bliss, as she seethed in silence. I was feeling productive in both schoolwork and the case of the vanishing cabinet. Even more so, when my fiendish brain came up with a way to break in Granger a lot quicker than alternating between charm and my usual manner when dealing her– one inspired by her reaction my earlier tactics. If only my genius could come up with a way to keep my dinner down and safely in my stomach, instead of getting perilously lodged in my throat…

 _H:_

There were three reactions to the events of the weekend: uncomfortable, pity and rejoice. Malfoy was in what I decreed to be by far the best category– rejoice. Sure just the knowledge that the boy, who resembled more of a skeleton than a human these days, was in a better position than me was annoying. His gloating face and cutting remarks were steel-capped with his awareness of this new weakness, but they were still preferable to Harry's white face, as he questioned me carefully if I was okay. More often than not, Harry looked like he was considering diving into Voldermort's hands, in order to avoid the sheer awkwardness of the whole situation.

Lastly and rightly least of the bunch was pity. It was often found on the faces of students in the corridor, as they rushed to give me a berth, mostly in fear that I would send a flurry of birds with the intention to blind them as well. In their eyes it lurked, as they stopped whispering every time I drew near, like their voices hadn't carried their negligent opinions to my ears, before I had even turned the corner. They may have been sympathetic now, but within a few days and if my frown continued, they were going to be hissing about how I was being bitter, deliberately obtuse, towards poor Lavender Brown and Won-Won.

As I flicked the pages of my irritably, I experienced a sensation that I had never associated with Malfoy before. I was grateful. For the past couple of days I had been my own worst nightmare: a wet blanket. I was wishy-washy, almost always on the brink of tears, turning my head so no one could work out exactly what awful substance was pooling in the rims of my eyes. Even reading wasn't the same. Instead of caressing the words, smoothing out the crinkles, and gorging myself on the rambling, melodic writing that waxed and waned on the page, I was barely aware. Short, chunky phrases. Flowing, vast sentences that snatched at your imagination, unwinding the threads in their haste, leading it onto distant galaxies. All ignored. This mesmerising addiction, that I had once been able to see no way out of, was faded in the bright, ultra-violent light of my heartbreak. Yet Malfoy's harsh statements were beginning to mop up the damp inside of me. That, however, didn't mean I enjoyed it.

Malfoy, however, didn't appear to share my fragile state of mind, as he smirked gently throughout the entire session. I shamed my Gryffindor credentials by wishing for the chance to run away from him and his sideways, vindictive leer. I had the disdainful impression that he was more perceptive than most, therefore noticing my tears and as a result, this smirk was my reward for my pitiful weakness.

Abruptly I was jerked out my head at the scraping of his chair, as he rose. 'If only I had known that, any mention of Weasel's ineptitude at finding a human being to mate with, was enough to get you silent, then I could've enjoyed years migraine-free.' he mused, collecting his things.

I noted that he had completed nearly as much work as me. I didn't deign him with a response, choosing to glower at him over the pile of parchment. I was in for a surprise though it appeared, as in lieu of taking his pert arse back to the dungeons to polish it or whatever, he decided to move closer, leaning against the desk casually, as though we were swapping tips on where to get a manicure.

I restrained myself from moving away, but couldn't quite manage to stop my facial features from morphing into an expression of wonder and unease. What was he doing? A reckless thought entered my head. One that concerned his earlier behaviour. I may not be well versed in flirtation, but I would've had to be blind not to notice the blatant stare at my lips. Interesting that, even though I had barely entertained sexual thoughts about Ron– the git who I was in love with–, today my imagination seemed to be on heroine, as vivid, very vivid images danced in my inner eye. I put it down to the fact that the only boys, who had ever entered my space, had been invited and platonic in their intentions, while Malfoy was quite the opposite.

I was similarly taken back, as his tongue flicked out to lick his lips. He caught my eye, as I attempted to pretend I hadn't seen the action, encouraging a all-encompassing blush to spread on my face.

'So what do I owe you Granger?'I couldn't help but note that he had a very sexy growl thing going on.

'What?' I squeaked, confused.

He leaned closer. 'Well you have been quiet for nearly two hours, which I'm sincerely grateful for and you weren't even that annoying, so what do I owe you?'

'Nothing!' I replied hotly. 'If you think positive reinforcement is going to work on me, then–'

'Hmm… that's a good idea. Smart, aren't you Granger?' My reason really did not like that he was continuing to move towards me. My body, on the other hand, didn't exactly hold the same view. 'Anything you would like to request?'

In my mind my response was 'you leaving me alone maybe', however in practise, I foolishly let out a mumble and for some unknown reason, jolted my eyes down to his lips.

'So you want me for my body do you? And here I was thinking you were a prude…' He was hovering above my ear now and I was desperately trying to remind myself that there were some very good logic behind the theory of him being a deatheater.

'No…' I muttered out finally. His eyes fixed mine with a reproving roll.

'Really Granger?' I could feel his breath against my cheek now. I thought about it for a moment. My first instinct was to let him. Shameful conduct really, but fuck it! I was lonely, rejected by the only boy I had ever loved for some skank that had bigger boobs than her brain, and, ohhh, I could just imagine Ron's face if he ever found out! Oh God it would feel fantastic to rub it in that maybe, for once, other males didn't have to have the threat of going to the Yule Ball alone, to realise that I was in fact a woman complete with a set of mammary glands and a womb!

Then again what were Malfoy's motivations? This was not a harmless game. He couldn't– wouldn't– just decide that he wanted a mudblood, unless there was something incredibly important that he could stand to gain. It was well-known that he certainly didn't restrict his lust, but with so many volunteers, it was hardly like he needed someone else to shag, especially that someone being me.

'Nice try Malfoy,' I stood, acting as if I was in control of my sense once again. Inside a war was raging. 'But if you excuse me, I think I need a cup of tea to cope with the shock of you thinking I'm stupid enough to fall for your shit.' I grabbed my books, as he scowled at me, pouting savagely at his failure. 'Or maybe it's the shock of realising that all these years of pathetic bullying have been because of your attraction to me. I'm sure the rest of the school would love to interpret your motives.'

I sarcastically blew a kiss at his frustrated expression, before stalking out of view triumphantly. That triumph wilted minutes later, as I caught sight of Ron and _her_ eating each other in a nearby corridor. I hurried on with my head slumped onto my chest. However it wasn't over as when I got to the Common Room, Harry pounced on me.

'What were you doing with Malfoy?' he hissed at me, pulling me to one side. 'I saw you on the map!'

'Tutoring him.' I replied, wiping the spittle of my cheek. I raised an eyebrow as he visibly relaxed, but then stiffened back up again. 'Why?'

'Dunno. Didn't know what to think!' His eyes grew wide with excitement, coinciding with the sinking feeling in my stomach. 'That's it Mione! You have to get close to him to find out what he's doing in the Room of Requirement!'

I stared at him blankly, wondering what his reaction would've have been moments earlier if I had confided to him just how close Malfoy and I had been ten minutes ago. I gulped as he began rambling ecstatically about this development, though a tiny voice did suggest that I could get away with doing anything, including Malfoy himself, if I did this one small favour for Harry…


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four: Snakes Shouldn't Play With Lionesses

 _A/N: Congrats to you if you made it this far! I know this is a bit of a slow-burner, but the reward will (hopefully) be exquisite._

 _D:_

The solution to Granger was an oxymoron: simplistic yet difficult. I found this extra frustration extremely distasteful, particularly as my fingers wavered, when trying to thread the impossibly small metal attachments of the vanishing cabinet together. I leant back, completely drained of anything resembling life. I wouldn't even raise an eyebrow if someone mistook me for an Inferius. It was getting quite frightening to look in the mirror these days.

I took my brief lenience to meander through the topic of that inadequately-groomed she-wolf. Granger (or more importantly her constantly whirring brain) was like something sweet, whether it was a delectable pastry or juicy tart, placed in front of you, when you were still young and instilled with innocence. It was left in front of you with the assurances of 'later'. As the day progressed, it grew more and more tantalising. It consumed your thoughts. And then, just as your agony wass drawing to a close, your burgeoning obese cousin– the one who always presided over you, due to their two month earlier birth date– gobbled it up, tearing it roughly and letting the juices go to waste, as they oozed over the sausage fingers; all of this under the watchful, adoring eye of the Aunt that insisted in pinching too hard when she squeezed your cheeks. That feeling, that growling beast, burnt through my chest– _l'inferno all'interno._

The plan was simple as it had only one major step: shag her. From there everything would fall into place and I wouldn't find _my_ place to be six feet under. Granger blushed at a male coming within a metre of her. I could only imagine what she would do if I actually touched her. It helped me that, apart from a measly kiss with Krum, Granger was inexperienced, which was a weakness I would be too happy to exploit. I would be foolish, not to mention dead, if I underestimated her, but her woefully insufficient self-awareness, she would– could– only associate physicality's with romantic, tangible love. After fucking her, everything would fall into place, including the removal of my funeral from the Dark Lord's schedule.

Yet there was a problem. How the fuck was I supposed to get her diving with some velocity into my bed? Seducing her, coaxing her lust away from her tiresome rationality, was going to prove harder than getting Potter to stop stalking me around the castle. However I was going to have to, unless I wanted the Malfoy family name to be lost to history and myth. The Dark Lord had been most explicit about that particular clause.

I snaked out a hand to collect my lukewarm cup of tea. I was disappointed to find that it was long cold, indicating that I had in fact wasted a lot more time than I had previously presumed, but drained it anyway. Out of desperation for some meaningless stimulation, I let my eyes drift down to examine the residue of the tea leaves. Interestingly it resembled Granger's hair, which is to say a bird's nest. I had no idea what it meant, but then again, I didn't believe in it anyway. Another thing I didn't believe in? That life would be better for the Malfoys under the Dark Lord. I would have to be deluded to even allow anyone to broach the subject to me. It was pity that I was or, at least, had been.

Sudden fury burst through my system and with a jerk, the tea leaves were strewn over a nearby bookcase. The rest of mug splattered– shattering into fierce, jagged points. I breathed in, trying to control the dragon within, by continuing to evaluate more of cracks in Granger's shield. I smirked as one came dancing into my head, delighting me with its presence as it bowed low.

I had previously mismarked Weasel's ignorance of Granger's pitiful feelings as a barrier to entry, yet I realised now that it was actually a useful stepping stone. Granger had been rejected. Utterly slaughtered. She was lonely and although many thought her to be above it, blind to how she was really a vindictive soul, she wanted revenge. And why should I be the one to deny her that?

With a smirk going nowhere for the foreseeable future, I collected myself and hurried out of the Room of Requirement. I swaggered down to the Dungeons, even refraining from snapping at some twatty, giggling girls, thanks to my ludicrously good mood. I swung into step with Blaise, as he made his way into our common room. I felt him calculating what the odds I was actually cheerful were–probably planning to sell them to the other Slytherins as soon as I departed. His idea of fun really.

My leer grew wider, as I observed him trying to conceal his curious sideways glances. 'Alright?'

'Not as alright as you apparently.' He answered evenly, though I noticed sarcasm lacing the phrase. I decided to not take offence, as I knew Blaise's exasperation at my deatheater membership, but no one, not even Blaise, could know of my less than avid dedication to the Dark Lord.

'I don't see why you can't be.' We had reached the steps to our dorm now.

He groaned and I saw his fingers twitch for his wand. 'Oh Merlin don't start this again.'

I shrugged off his pleas. 'I don't see the point of causing yourself misery. It's not a very good example of self-preservation for the lower years.'

'And if you continue harassing me on topic, you won't be a good example either.' he glared at me. Mentally he was imaging throttling me. 'Stop acting so concerned, Draco. It doesn't suit you. Any minute now, you'll be confessing your undying love for me or that you're a Gyrffindor.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Are you or are you not Blaise Zabini?' A shoulder barge answered that question for me, as we entered our dorm. 'If you want it, take it.'

He dumped his books with a threatening thunk. 'I don't want it. Not a single centimetre of skin. Not even one strand of ginger hair.'

I leaned against his bedpost, as he hurriedly organised, so he could leave my presence swiftly. Charming. 'My arse you don't. Are you a Hufflepuff or a Slytherin?'

Blaise's lips pulled apart in disgust at the idea of being mistaken for an Ernie Macmillan. 'Slytherin.'

'There's your answer then. You're not going to mope around waiting for her to come,' he surveyed me, trying to find the reason for my intrusion. I paused before releasing my innuendo in a self-satisfied chuckle. 'You're going find her clit. Now.'

'You don't have to look so smug just because you know it will piss off not only Weaseley, but Potter if I fuck her.'

' _When_ you fuck her.' I allowed a smile to play around the rim of my lips. 'Maybe I just want you to for once not walk around all day with a face like a slapped arse.'

'I learnt from the best.' he murmured, moving to stalk out of the room. I knew secretly that he practised his sassy sashay in front of the mirror at night, so was unfazed by its vivacity.

I blocked the way as I couldn't wait to see the effect of the finale on him. 'Additionally it will be a pleasant change to not be the only one shagging a Gryffindor.'

It was as spectacular as I had expected. His guarded expression opened momentarily to let shock cascade over his features, before both determination and a fizzing sort of humour settled there– just glimmering from underneath the mask he wore so well. 'You dirty, dirty bastard.'

I merely grinned at him. I hadn't felt this genuinely happy, since Pansy had finally agreed to a threesome. Oh those were the days…

 _H:_

I was rapidly becoming as obsessed as Harry and it had lead to some less than satisfactory outcomes. Mainly me agreeing going to Slughorn's Christmas Party with Cormac Mclaggen. _CORMAC MCLAGGEN FOR_ CHRISSAKE! Ginny had pressed her hand to my forehead to check if I had the dragonpox or something, when I had told her. She, of course, had wrongly assumed the arrangement was, as a result of Lavender squeaking, sadly within my hearing range, that she and Ronald had progressed sexually, and it had sent me hurtling in Mclaggen's tentacles. If she had known what really had me stuttering my assent to Mclaggen's proposal, I expect she would've have been taken me to Mungo's to check the disease hadn't spread to my brain.

Draco Malfoy. I growled at omnipresent thought, clenching my fist as I practically threw my tea down my throat. Pity it was scalding hot. I had left for the Library after Ginny's pitying glances had gotten too much. Harry had promised to come down later, but I could do without his company. To add to his severely irritating reliance on the potions book, he kept using any available time in my company to send me little looks that impressed on me that he was very disappointed I hadn't yet manipulated Malfoy to the stage, where he would reveal all his nefarious plans to me. Meanwhile I was relieved, as I, for one, felt a bit sick at the idea. I really wouldn't appreciate the image of Pansy during BDSM- concentrated sex personally.

In a last attempt to distract myself, I stared down at my mug for inspiration. All that lay there was a smear of tea leaves. I rolled my eyes at Trelawny's false predictions, however, comforted by the fact no one was watching, I partook in the basic skill. It would give me a much needed laugh after all. I squinted at the blob, pausing confused, as the only thing I could make out appeared to be a magnet. This confirmed everything I had already known. It was an iffy magnet at best and even then, most Wizards didn't know of the existence of such things. I placed the cup down heavily.

I tried to return to my work, but instead my eyes insisted in prickling annoyingly. I sniffed and tried to persevere, but to no avail, as with a plop, a large tear landed on the crinkled parchment. I slammed my head into the table, biting my lips to stifle the wail that I wanted to release, as many more tears followed the first. I had pretended to Ginny that I was fine, but in reality she hadn't been too far off the mark.

It was my fault really. I should've prepared more for the inevitable. Anyone looking at Ron and Lavender's amorous interactions would realise that they were going to do a lot more than tongue heartily. It's just that I had always assumed that Ron and I would be each other's first in everything. And then, after Krum's peck on the cheek, I had prayed; I had agonised over, making sure that if not each other's first kiss, we would be everything else. First love, first finger, first blowjob… Oh it was bloody crude and pathetic of me, but it still had been my strongest desire.

Sure, he and Lavender hadn't had sex yet, but it was coming and I didn't think that I could cope. I was so painfully lonely, aware that I should be the one getting tutted at for making too much of a display of kissing him at breakfast, that I just couldn't quite deal with having my heart torn in half so slowly, so savagely– one string at a time.

'Granger?' I shot up, pawing at my undoubtedly gruesome face, at the voice breaching my solitude. I turned to expect some friendly sort of acquaintance, but was left gaping at the sight of him. 'Do you by any chance want a tissue before you snot all over yourself?'

Oh. No.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

 _A/N: Please enjoy the following jumble of words and letters that apparently make logical sense thanks to our education system._

 _D:_

The diameter of Granger's eyes suggested that she had seen the Dark Lord naked. Oh no that would never do. She had to trust me and this trust had to extend from trusting me to see her at her most bare and unmasked to trusting me to insert my penis correctly. I had only had years of training her to do the exact opposite to unwind. What a pleasurable experience this was about to be.

'Crying over the Weasel again?' I strode forward. She remained gawping at me. 'I must comment on your unoriginality in that department.'

'Malfoy.' She probably meant it to come out as a snap, but I was being generous when I declared it little more than a whine.

'Granger lovely to see you are familiar with my surname after all these years.'

'What do you want?' she ground out, trying and failing to pretend she hadn't been sobbing her poor, embittered little heart out.

I took it as an invitation to sit. 'The question is what do you want?'

Her eyes flashed at me. Shortly afterwards my teeth found themselves clamping together, so as to ignore the sudden tightness in my chin. This tightness dictated that I would be retching soon if I didn't control myself. Instead I frowned at how deeply unattractive Granger was when she blubbered. It appeared grace didn't come naturally to her. I would have to get a bag for her head (although I doubted any would contain her abundant mane), if she insisted on moping around the place.

She stood dramatically. 'Unless you want to make a generous contribution to my House Elf Fund, I suggest you piss off.'

I rose with her not wanting to be outdone. 'I was thinking more along the lines of a partnership that could benefit everyone, excluding Weasel and, well, Pansy too.'

'Pansy?' I smirked as she failed to conceal that I had ensnared her interest.

'Yes the one that looks like pug.' Pansy would've skinned me alive if she had heard me. 'You see she's rather possessive over me and my father appears to share her sentiments by forcing me into marriage with her.' She studied me curiously, shock evident at news of my 'engagement'. 'And I feel you could help.'

'Could but won't Malfoy.' She went to pick up her things, but I moved my body to block her. 'I'm not helping you poison her or whatever other method of murder you've decided on.'

I used her immobility at our closeness to lean down, until I reached her ear. 'So you're going to allow Weasel to continue to humiliate you?' She made to lecture me, but I silenced with a finger grazing her lips. They were smooth I noticed. 'One small misunderstanding about the matter of some lovebites and Weasel will not only taste the sourness of regret, but he'll ditch that slag before you can even say 'thank you Draco'. He's always had issues with jealousy, hmmm?'

She nodded slowly, understanding lighting up her eyes in the most striking, feral way. 'And this will leak to Parkinson?'

I shook my head, taking her not hexing me on the spot as permission to let my mouth slip ever closer to her neck. She seemed paralysed as I breached the shrub that she mislabelled as hair. 'My parents Granger. Don't take this too personally, but my father will be in such a state of disgust and confusion that he'll let me go after any girl– well any girl except you.'

Her body was still stiffened, but she didn't pull away. Our eyes held each other– old enemies converging on the battlefield under the white flag. 'Your father? Isn't he… a little tied up at the moment?'

My breath trapped itself in my chest, as I tried to remind my dissatisfied body that normally sons lamented the departure of their fathers to Azkaban. Gently I unwound it with one long sigh. 'There's these things called letters Granger, which people use to communicate–'

'Shut up!' Her head snapped up and almost took me out in one reckless headbutt. Still I lingered, breathing in the scent of the opium. 'You want me to help you, don't you?'

'A union,' I reminded her. 'Is for mutual benefit.'

I added a glare in to relieve my inner snarl at her for once choosing this exact moment to sense the power balance.

'I take it that you already have a nefarious scheme up your sleeve.'

Only if she knew how many were at work at present, I mused. 'I keep it in my pocket actually.'

This seemed to allow her to resume breathing. The shuddering of her torso wasn't unwelcomed as (1) I needed her alive, (2) I found it quite pleasant to give her breasts a half-lidded look and (3) it sent her scent roaring up to entangle in my brain. I wondered if she was noticing my smell as much as I was hers. The thought sent a throb through my throat, where it jittered into my jaw. If only Potter could see us now…

Now her lungs were reawakened, she couldn't seem to stop sucking in air vociferously. My eardrum ached under the onslaught. I continued on after leaving a long enough silence to unnerve her. 'It can be easily retrieved if you were to say the word.'

'Do it then.' She grumbled, as if she knew and therefore resented how much enjoyment I was gaining from this position.

'Ahh did I say "word", I meant "words". Plural.'

'What words?'

'Something along the lines of "Draco Malfoy will be my pretend shag?"'

I almost risked a smile as she bristled, unwittingly thrusting herself further into the enclave of my body. She fixed my steely gaze to match her rigid structure– one that had the potential to snag my streamers. 'No one will believe I shagged someone!'

'No one will believe that you'd shag me either.'

'If you ignored your baser bitch instincts that are probably coded into your DNA, then maybe they would.'

Brushing aside the jargon, I ran a tongue over my lips for her benefit. She blushed and avoided my eye. It was surreal. It was like she possessed ovaries after all these years.

'I was going to rely on raw sexual magnetism.' I simply adored it when she gaped at me. 'Mine to be specific.' She spluttered, but to my delight couldn't refute the point. Maybe honesty wasn't all that bad a trait after all. 'So what do you have to say to me?'

'Fine.' She tossed her hair over her shoulder irritably. She caught me eying it. 'What?'

I leaned forward, hedging my bets that she wouldn't hit me and pressed a cool hand on her humid palm that was defensively place across the other.

'No one will believe that I would touch someone, let alone fuck them, with hair as bad as yours. Sort it out and maybe my attitude will become marginally less…blunt.'

I took her stunned silence as leave to go. With one smug smile, I left with thoughts of our tutoring session tomorrow floating through my head like ripe, tantalising sugarplums.

 _H:_

They say in crashes that the moments before are clear, but the crash itself is a blur. This was the exact opposite when Malfoy touched me. And yes I do count crashes and Malfoy making contact with me on the same level of emergency. At least my hormones seemed to think so. I was crying, then he interrupted, something about revenge, agreement, but then, as his palm settled on mine, clarity pierced through the haze I had been stumbling through in the past few weeks.

Exhilarated, I marvelled at how my heartbeat was no longer loping along, dragged along by my mere existence, but it was pounding– demanding my attention. I allowed my favourite smell– the one that didn't cause my eyes to prickle– to refresh me. Of course his crisp scent of peppermint hadn't sent my pulse racing at all. It was just the parchment I was surrounded by. My eyes darted over the volumes and though I wanted to run my hand along them, disturb the dust on their ancient spines, I had tutoring with Malfoy. I had a feeling it would be a very productive session for both of us.

He was waiting for me for the first time. My eyes widened and as his gaze met mine, I wondered if it was just his hearing that was unearthly or was he a mind reader. It would explain matters a great.

'Has anyone told you that you have great "fuck me" eyes?' his smirked splashed across his face, as if the artist had decided to give his otherwise perfect portrait a vice.

'Has anyone told you that you need to fuck off?'

Now I wasn't the only one with larger than life eyes. 'Blasphemy really Granger?'

'Better than bigotry I like to think.'

'Well I won't spoil your fun then.'

I sat after the compulsory greeting of gunfire. I tried to pretend that I wasn't excited for what was to come. I had spent all night delving into avenues of revenge that Malfoy was planning. I knew he was agitated too, even as he turned the page of his textbook with a grating slowness. I picked up my quill to feign disinterest too.

'Granger?'

'Yes?' I snapped far too quickly, thus revealing my position to the enemy.

'Could you pass us that ink pot? Yeah. The one by your elbow.'

I begrudgingly passed it to the git, as he flushed with merriment. He had done that on purpose. Twat.

'Granger?' He cooed again. After I failed to respond, he called again.

I dragged my eyes viciously along the table to meet his. He winced at my expression. 'What?'

'Are you in a strop or would you care to discuss the plan?'

With a huff I dropped my quill and turned my whole body to face him. I wanted to hide under the table, but retained my bitch glare, as heat paraded from my face to my toes, spinning on its heel to cement its hold on me. 'I'm listening.'

I put up with his eyes strip-searching my body for a few seconds, before I threw a book at him. He ducked gleefully, but reverted to his usual business-like self. 'First things first we have to identify someone to 'catch' us so to speak. I have a few ideas, but feel free to butt in like usually do and correct me. I feel rather than the obvious route of Patil or Brown, we should be smarter and pick someone like that bugger Creevy or Millicent, for example. That way it won't look staged, but they aren't close enough to either of us for loyalty to keep their lips closed.'

'Millicent.' I spat out. No way was I going to have Colin Creevy getting a picture of me and Malfoy together. That would really be the nail on my coffin.

'Fine. She'll be alone on the fourth floor at six tomorrow night.' I tried to conceal how I was impressed by his thorough collection of data. If only he had applied it to his studies, so I wouldn't be in this position now. 'We'll take it from there.'

I swallowed to prepare for my next query. Interest roamed freely on his face, as I pressed hands on my face to cover the vivid plumes on my cheeks. 'When you say "take it from there", what exactly do you mean? Are you going to…Are we?'

I dropped off as he laughed ruthlessly, getting to his feet. Dipping his face uncomfortably close to mine, reminiscent of yesterday, he did the impossible and made me feel even worse than I was already.

'It's touching Granger, really. Even endearing maybe. But sorry to ruin your delusions, there's a charm to make lovebites appear on your neck.' I foolishly jumped, as a lone finger ran its way down my neck. 'I won't be fulfilling your wildest dreams and touching you. Silly, little Granger. I would never touch you.'

I might've believed him too, but contrary to his statement, his lips grazed my ear and a shudder fizzled through me. I had always been a sucker for empirical evidence. I couldn't tell if it was lust or fear that had dissolved my backbone. Maybe a bit of both.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

 _A/N: Sorry this is only a short one, but please enjoy! Reviews, likes and follows are always a pleasant surprise._

 _H:_

The nicest way to describe what I was feeling was to say that I was extremely nervous. In reality my heart seemed to think it had taken an introductory course on how to snort meth. Shakes beset my body, rattling my bones. If it hadn't been for the merest bit of self-control that remained, it would've been impossible to navigate the moving staircases. As it was, I was in danger of toppling off them. The stairs that is, although with the way I was going, I wouldn't be surprised if my legs simply slid off my ankles. With one last breath in, I stepped onto the fourth floor and staggered along to meet my doom.

He was loitering. My stomach wheezed alarmingly as his crisp, flint irises flicked up to meet mine. I managed the last few steps, hiding my hands in my pockets so he couldn't see the trembles that animated them so. A brief look up and down my body served as a greeting, before he stepped towards me. I leaned back in retaliation.

'So,' I struggled to not squeak. 'This charm then?'

He appraised me coolly, a slight smile tilting a corner of his mouth downwards. I recognised it and raced to try to identify it, before it could be used against me. His words toppled out of his mouth before I could quite put my finger on it. 'Granger there is no charm. I was lying. I do that a lot.'

As the words smacked me in the face, I stood there blinking, meanwhile Malfoy–too Slytherin to lose the upper hand– slunk forward and with solid hands pinned me against the wall. I was in too much shock to foresee where this was going and when the inevitable happened, my only thought was that I was glad he was pressing me into the solid stone, as otherwise my legs would've given way. After that all hell broke loss inside my mind, swear words aplenty. Despite the strength of the uproar, it was silenced by the sensation of being kissed. Properly.

His lips were soft but he used them roughly. They overcame my defences, breached my consciousness, as he attacked my mouth ruthlessly. I succumbed swiftly, allowing his tongue to dip inside and sweep around my lower lip. It tingled. I was stunted. He had always been able to detect weakness and now was no exception. Hot, warm. My lips were an oval of surprise and by the time my sense had awakened, his tongue might as well have been mine.

I sucked on his tongue as it performed euphoria-inducing loops and licks. Catching on, he dragged it out of my mouth to the same rhythm, before plunging it back in. Fire flushed in my cheeks at the realisation of the act we were replicating and with it came an uncomfortable heat. To delay my cheeks from fully igniting I distracted myself by touching my tongue tentatively with his. Chaos and sizzling shooting stars ensued. I was entrapped with the sensation of warmth that was a charging dragon swooping in my bloodstream. There was no logical explanation as to why a boy so frozen in his emotions could make me so…hot.

The temperature rose as, while his onslaught of lips continued, his hands swept up my body to cling onto my hair and tug me closer to him. The large palm fisted in my curls tangled riotously, as he cupped my head and picked up the pace of his ministrations. I dropped my head backwards, lips being snagged away from his bruising mouth. Though I had stupidly expected a reprieve, his lips continued and darted across my neck, morphing it into a ravine of nips and hormones. Bordering on the edge of my ecstasy, my rationality pointed out the danger of our chests being sandwiched together, yet to my lust, it was no menace, but a furthering of the pleasure coursing through my craving body.

'Moan Granger.' He hissed quietly, as his lips delighted my upper nape. I needed no encouragement. I was just glad that I hadn't moaned without him giving the command to do so. That would've been embarrassing.

The loudness of my own whimper of satisfaction startled me and almost caused me to come crashing back down to earth, but his mouth would not desist and I found the only way of coping was run my hands along his chest and counter-attack with just as much zeal. This time the battle was longer, but his endurance still outpaced mine. Coaxing my hair over one shoulder, he sucked on my throat deeply, as though he was drinking in the very essence of my soul. I gave up ignoring the urge to wrap my legs around my torso, yet due to the unfortunate length of my skirt, I was unable and nearly ended up kneeing him in the balls. It was a bit of a mood killer as he pulled away to give me a sanity-questioning look. Needless to say I didn't attempt to do so again.

Just as I thought my heart couldn't go any faster, it burst. Footsteps pierced the opium-esque haze I was wrapped in, despite my fingers latching on and attempting to maintain the veil. They echoed in my head, reverberating around in the newly cleared space, as the lips besieging me became rougher still. I moaned again, but this time shame scalded my cheeks and I had to duck my head back out of the firing line. Yet I still wasn't safe, as hands reached under my blouse.

Alarmed I jerked upwards, grazing my back, and tried to slap them away, but at a glare and a back-arching pinch, I was much too gone to protest their presence. Even as the heavy footfalls sped up to take the corner, the thumbs sweeping, rubbing, massaging and tugging on the severe points of my breasts rendered the noise meaningless. I pushed my chest further into his surprisingly-warm palms and selfishly I imagined instead of Malfoy, Ron. It didn't bring as much joy as I expected, as even though Malfoy was being coarse in his motions, it was deliberate. I had the sneaking suspicion that Malfoy was terrorising me (in a good way) in this manner to embarrass me, perhaps even out of curiosity. Similarly Ron would be coarse as well, but that wasn't his aim; it would be a mistake– a mark of ineptitude. While Malfoy harboured the potential to both be gentle and domineering, the sinking in my stomach forced me to realise that Ron didn't and that's how it would always be.

'Merlin's Balls Draco and Mudblood Granger!' It would've been better delivered as a shrill cry, but Millicent's register didn't exceed a deep baritone. 'Fuck me backwards!'

Malfoy swiftly removed himself from me, exposing me to the real world once again. I touched a finger to my lips that fizzed with blood and something else. They were swollen, displaying signs of nibbling and I dreaded to think what state my neck would be in. Oxygen I hadn't realised that was being withheld, rushed to cool my cheeks, as I rearranged my top sheepishly.

'Millicent.' Malfoy growled. 'You wouldn't happen to want to see tomorrow morning would you?'

Her expression was as disgusted and perplexed as I felt. Well it didn't fully represent the longing to return to what we'd been just doing actually. Oh or the shame either. Her eyes met mine for an instant and I felt another jolt as reality sliced into my daydreams.

'You can't expect me to stay quiet about this Draco! No way am I risking being crucioed by Pansy if she finds out!'

It appeared she didn't have a choice (or at least Malfoy wasn't prepared to give her one), as with a tortured sigh, Malfoy whipped out his wand. However it appeared I was the only one mildly shocked by this threat of violence, as Millicent had already cast a hurried _protego_ to absorb the harsh _expelliarmus_. I stared at her wildly wobbling backside as she fled the scene, shrieking for Peeves.

Malfoy gave me a deploring look at my inactivity, but I simply shrugged, still propped up where he had left me. My brain was having some trouble processing our kiss and it hadn't even got onto the memorising fondling I had been subjected to yet. I was useless. Drained at the same time as being rejuvenated. Light but heavy. Finally, after rolling his eyes so hard that I expected them to plop out of their socket and roll away, he was striding in the direction of the earth-shaking quakes. There was barely a backwards glance. I watched him go, wondering if that was how everyone's first snogging session ended. I decided that it probably wasn't as fucked up.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

 _D:_

Granger had been avoiding me. Well that or she had suddenly developed an interest in leaping into corners and lurking stupidly behind her friends whenever she suspected that I was near. Lucky for me that there was plenty of times when she didn't. However one time she was (painfully) aware to my presence was at our weekly tutoring sessions. The pleasure I gained from the grit of her teeth and her stammering response to my questions almost surpassed that of the pleasure that my daily wank over her gave me. Almost, but not quite.

Yet with this level of noise you would think Granger wanted to be found– by the whole school apparently. My ears protested as I drew closer, remaining hidden around a corner, and I had to agree, since it was like Zeus himself had decided to release all his thunderbolts at once.

'Ron please.' She begged, sobbing her little heart out. I frowned. She was not giving him the hellfire I expected from her. Pity since Weasel really deserved it. Anyway it was a nice change for it not to be directed at me for once.

'So I turn around for one second and you're poncing about with that wanker! Malfoy, Hermione! Have you gone insane?'

'Ronald it wasn't like–' she bleated out pathetically.

'No Hermione! I don't know what to think anymore! I don't even know who you are anymore!'

I think I genuinely heard Granger bristle. Whatever her expression, it must have been fearsome, because the bollocks Weasel was spouting was terminated instantly.

'Don't know me Ronald? Don't know _me_ Ronald! Or should I call you Won-Won as I hear that's what you go by now?' I winced on behalf of Weasel. 'If you had detached yourself from Lavender for more than five minutes, then you might have remembered who I was!'

'You're the one who didn't speak to me.' Weasel tried to defend himself, but Granger obviously wasn't ready to allow him to speak yet.

'Maybe you would've heard about the death of my Godmother.' Suddenly I realised, despite the sheer decibels Granger's voice had reached, perhaps this conversation wasn't intended for me. 'Or maybe you would know that the Slytherin's are becoming more proactive with their death threats.' Then again I should listen to this, in order to find out who deserved a new set of teeth courtesy of my fist.

There was a pause. 'Look I'm sorry about your Godmother and I'll happily sort out the Slytherins,' I snorted silently at this. 'But let's face it, you're jealous.'

I thought Granger might snap. I wasn't disappointed, as with a howl of fury, she hexed Weasel. If I wasn't mistaken– and I wasn't– she'd just sent a particularly vicious Pus-Squirting Hex at Weasel. Ouch.

I had never seen anything as beautiful as Hermione Granger when she stamped around the corner with tears glazing her cheeks and a murderous glint in her eye. Well at least that's my excuse as to why I crashed my mouth down onto hers, in order to snog her senseless. She had earned it after all.

 _H:_

The sounds of teenagers underage drinking wafted up to my lonely dorm. Of course I was having a pity party by myself, while the others celebrated the latest Quidditch win. It was all my fault really. Oh and Ronald's. My blood pressure spiked at the thought of him and I shook my head, trying to rid the pathetic, pathetic tears. He was right. I had gone along with Malfoy's plan, maliciously hoping that Ron would instantaneously love me if he saw me with his enemy, but the opposite had happened and now we were more distant than ever. Fuck. Me.

'Oi Hermione!' Ginny wobbled in, slamming the door open. 'Come and have fun! Stop sulking! Ron and Lavie-Poos have pissed off, so the coast is clear.'

Before I could remind her that the idea of fun was subjective, she had me in a surprisingly strong grip and proceeded to tug me down to the party that McGonagall would have shrivelled up at the sight of. At least it wasn't as debauched as the Slytherin's. I physically winced at the memory of Malfoy shoving me into a wall for some heavy petting. Again. The resulting mars on my skin lingered under a concealing charm, lest Ron decide that Round 2 would be the one to really kick-start my brain back into action.

A fire whisky was gifted to me by a smirking Ginny, who dragged me through the crowd. I pretended that I wasn't jealous of her swivelling hips that captivated any male we came across. All the thoughts of 'if you made more effort, Ron would…' and 'if you weren't a prudish bookworm, then Ron would definitely…' bombarded me, until I had no other option than to swig heartily the acidic alcohol to shut them up.

Ginny's hand on my wrist loosened throughout the night, as she was pulled away in the current, so I settled for brooding with the numerous bottles of firewhisky everyone kept pressing into my sluggish, uncomprehending fingers. I guess it was funny to watch Hermione Granger stumble under the influence of something she normally pursed her lips at, but right now I didn't care. I didn't care. I didn't care about Ron. I didn't care about Harry's theories. I certainly didn't care about how Malfoy's lips felt on mine, as he claimed my mouth. Well I cared about the last one actually. It felt nice to be wanted, rather than needed. It was all I cared about.

Now I found I had drunk more than I could chew. No that wasn't right. Oh fuck it I was fucked. Fucked fuckitty fucked. And I dimly realised that I was trying to navigate my way through the corridors for some inexplicable reason. Wait. I was trying to find Malfoy. Yes that was it. All I was aware of was how every two seconds my head would plummet downwards– that I was unbelievably floppy– and without that solid wall behind me, I would've been on my arse and passed out a while back.

Then him. The stuff of daydreams and masturbation came swaggering around the corner. He was very pissed too, but that would make little difference to my plans, as I launched myself at him in one final bid to feel alright, like myself again, rather than this mute, tight-lipped robot. God they were soft! His lips. Tasting as much of sour firewhiskey as mine did. Then they were on my neck and then lower. If he hadn't stabilised me, then I would've fallen backwards, as my head lolled in keeping with gravity. I was far too eager to soak up the extreme pleasure of his lips.

I was cruder. As his hand delved into my hair, sweeping it away to clear away a space for his lips to land, I moved my hand from his stomach to his crotch. My knees hit the floor before the rest of me could quite catch up and then it was transferred from my hand to my open, welcoming mouth. Squelchy fluids, part salvia, part precum, part alcohol, dribbled from my tongue. I licked them graciously, swaying as I savoured.

Next he was helping my scrabbling hands up. Body on mine, fingers rubbing the soaked patch, delving under lacing, summoning an orgasm. All the while pressing sloppy kisses onto me. They were everywhere. Consuming my flesh. Until I allowed the tremble to besiege my senses.

Finally what I had been aching for. Deep. Shudder. Deeper. Unwinding. All the way out, all the way in. I was gone. Mild surprise that he'd been able to direct it in flickered up on my consciousness momentarily, but it was dismissed in favour of marvelling at the sensation. Slap. Slap. Slap-slap-slap. I was lost again, resurfacing only when he too went. I panted, hungry for more, even though there was none. My spirit fled ahead of my stumbling body, ignoring his muffled screams. I collapsed. Drag self up, fall back down– this time onto carpet. Warm. So sleepy.

 _D:_

So it turned out I didn't have to be the Prime Mover in the event of getting Granger diving with some velocity into my bed (or onto my dick would be more applicable). Maybe I had been underestimating my sex appeal after all these years.

 _H:_

'Miss Granger! Would you kindly tell me why you decided on my office floor, as a suitable place to pass out?'

I cracked open one eye to see a furious McGonagall. Fuck. Me.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

 _A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I have tried to make the layout a bit easier to understand, so I hope that helps. I'm doing exams right now, so this isn't a priority for me right now. I'll try to update when I can!_

 _H:_

Detention was painful as waxing your undercarriage, yet somehow I had feeling it was going to get a lot worse. I was on day three of the two weeks I had been gifted by a ruthless Professor McGonagall, who had not only been infuriated by me chucking up on her shoes shortly after waking, but she had practically known. _Known._ I don't know how but I might as well as have had 'just been shagged last night' written on my forehead. Disapproving didn't do it justice to the look on her face. Or maybe I was being paranoid, as I felt with an event this huge that the whole world should just know, instead of just me and, well, him.

Anyway the following bollocking had been brutal but brisk, which my hungover self had been grateful for. However it had been loud so as to alert the whole of Wizarding World to my disgrace. I had spent most of my week trying to not wish that the whole student body would choke on their sniggers. It had been tough to say the least.

Yet it was going to be a walk in the park compared to hell I was about to be exposed to. Dungeons. Snape. Malfoy. Me. Sounded like a recipe for disaster really. I had been avoiding leaving the common room, so I had only caught a glimpse of Malfoy in lessons so far. He was still making my heart lurch awkwardly at his sheer attractiveness (and my cheeks blush at the disorganised mess of memories I had), but he was getting thinner and thinner, until one day I expected to not be able see him from sideways on. I had been avoiding meals in the Great Hall and it was easy to see he had been avoiding meals altogether.

I fidgeted like the awkward lemon I am, as he strode past me to bury himself in the corner of the dungeons. His face suggested he wasn't in the most chipper of moods. I didn't know what he had done to be here, but neither him or Snape seemed to want to elaborate.

'For your crimes against humanity and Minerva's shoes, you two will be organising my potions cupboard for the next three hours.' Snape look beside himself with excitement. 'Wands. Now.'

Malfoy and I forked over our wands begrudgingly.

Snape's sneer verged on the ecstatic as he slithered out of the room. 'Enjoy.'

Somehow I didn't think I was going to, but I scuttled off to the cupboard speedily. It was messier than Harry's hair in the morning. Jars, bottles and ingredients lay scattered senselessly over the shelves, as if a pair of Hippogriffs had tried to mate in the confined space. Or Ron and Lavender for that matter. Due to the general chaos, I concluded that Snape had deliberately wrecked it to make our lives a misery. How thoughtful of him.

'Granger I expect this tidied when I wake up, yeah?'

I span around to see Malfoy sprawled over the step up ladder with the body language that suggested he was going to have a quick nap. I purpled at the injustice, but as he cracked open an eyelid and sneered, I found I couldn't quite speak. Furious with him, myself and Snape, I whipped back around to fume without him watching me. Trembling hands reached out to begin the cleaning, rearranging vials and righting beakers. I could feel his eyes on my body, igniting the inferno within. A rush of images– all of them indecent– hammered down the defences in my brain and my stomach flipped uncontrollably.

'Surely you're not letting me get away with that? No hexes–particularly the pus kind– today then or is that saved for later?'

He knew. He had been there for my pitiful fight with Ron that had been mostly one-sided, until I had lost control. However today I was not going to lose control. I wasn't even going to dignify his obvious jibbing with a response.

'How about fucking me? Is that scheduled for later too or is that just going to be a surprise again?'

Hearing him say it, confirm what I had done, resounded sharply within my head. I had done it. No one else but me. I couldn't blame Ron or him or anyone else, apart from me. He hadn't manipulated me or used any underhand tactics. It was all me. And that terrified me a little, as for long as I could remember my actions had always been dictated by someone else.

I decided I rather liked this new experience.

Well I did, until I felt a hand graze my right hip– right in the place that made me shiver. The angry comment that had just been about to slide out of my gritted teeth was lost to the abyss, as I realised how little distance separated us. His scent enveloped me, as a pale hand stretched out to set the beaker in my hand on a shelf.

'So Granger what's it to be?' His breath ravished my neck, teasing me wickedly. 'Because the problem with mentally undressing you is that it's never as good as the real thing.'

'You can't, can't just…' My willpower failed me as I his fingers dallied in a curl of my hair, spinning it back and forth between his polished nails.

'Can't what?' He was so in control, so smooth, that I was almost tempted to partake in what lurid activities he was suggesting just to see this control snap. 'Use you? Well that wouldn't be fair, as that's exactly what you did to me.'

I blushed as the memories gained momentum, colliding with each other in the tumultuous state of my mind. 'I'm sorry–'

'Sorry?' The sheer amusement in his voice halted my rambling apology. 'You'll be sorry very soon, once I'm done with you.'

The threat made a tingle burst through my body as I tried to control it and failing, which resulted in my arse grazing against something hard. I gulped at the observation, molten gold pouring into the pit of my stomach. I couldn't– didn't want to– pull away, as his roughened hand gently smoothed the skin of my inner thighs. As it rose, delving further into forbidden land, I couldn't help but arch my back, thereby shoving my arse further into his solid form.

Eventually it reached there, browsing the wetness dripping from my pants. Embarrassment from this reaction flared up, but his other hand stabilised my waist before I could move away. Small circles eliciting wondrous friction eased my rationality away from the situation, as well as ruthlessly teasing me. My hips replicated the movement, causing a small grunt from him, before his hand paused them.

Then the tortuous slowness was transferred to under my knickers. I found it ironic that despite the sluggishness of his finger, it was quickly working me into frenzy. Then it dipped in, swirling as though he was testing the texture of honey. I realised I was panting, lips partially open, but every effort to suppress what was building in my belly, seemed to increase it.

Just as he slipped another into my welcoming, fluid-slick opening, he yanked back on the curl he'd been playing with previously. My neck was bared and open, as his head bent downwards.

'Granger, Granger,' my surname sounded lyrical, melodic, as he purred it. 'How dare you be so fucking hot?'

I tried to protest– as if I was anything but a bushy-haired mess– but he used the opening of my lips, to ease his previously gyrating fingers in. Instantly, I tried to rear up and reject his offering, but Malfoy always got what he wanted and so I found, as I hung my head in shame to avoid his knowing eye, I tasted sweet.

'Now, now, Granger, why on earth did you fuck me?' he removed his fingers slowly, allowing me to suck lightly on them.

Surprise gripped me at his line of questioning. 'I… don't know.'

'Well, until you do know, I'm afraid pleasure is off the menu.' Something hardened in his stance. 'Try the library maybe.'

With that he relinquished his grip and retreated to his earlier position; confused but still tingling, I stared up at the rows of toxins and remedies. It was a shame, I reflected, that he wasn't eating these days, as I was more than happy to slip some arsenic into his food. Now I would have to be more inventive in my method of ridding myself of his irritating ways.


End file.
